


For Want of a Feather

by Capucine



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brother Feels, Drama, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Fucked Up, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mind Games, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Not Canon Compliant, Protective Siblings, Sexual Abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, messed up timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-19 12:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5966893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capucine/pseuds/Capucine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim Drake has been missing six months now. A lot has happened, and Dick is Batman and Damian is Robin. Things have changed, but Dick's never forgotten his missing brother.</p>
<p>And now, Tim has shown back up--but in different colors. With a different name. And a different allegiance.</p>
<p>Can Dick save Tim--and does he even want to be saved?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Kinda had an idea?
> 
> Not extremely graphic, especially sexually, but I felt it was a necessary warning, given that Tim is underage and the situation is definitely sexual abuse and such.
> 
> Anywho. Enjoy my take on Stockholm Syndrome!

The betrayal was huge.

Or, more accurately, the shock was huge. Dick wasn't certain it was a betrayal--yet. Or at least, not on Tim's part.

Because that was undeniably their Baby Bird, perched in black with a red mark across his chest, playing lookout.

He could hear Damian hiss quietly through his teeth, Robin, having fulfilled the role with Tim's disappearance a solid six months ago. A six months that had been _hell_ for Dick, because first Tim was gone, 'R' bloodied and pinned to the wall, dropped villain (Scarecrow, the one who had clearly left him vulnerable to being snatched up) on the ground and still in a coma today. Still, because Dick checked in every day, especially after all other leads went cold.

Then Bruce was gone. It shattered their family more than it already had been--Bruce was the linchpin. He was _Batman_ , he made them, or at least started them off.

Cassandra had grimly cut off contact, murmuring something about 'space' and 'Barbara needs me' but Dick could see the sadness in her eyes. The 'I can't take three people gone right now. I need to be with my safe people.'

And Stephanie was gone too. Had been gone. Was probably the catalyst for all this. Straight up murdered, brutally. Tim took it very hard. They all did, Dick thought, even if Bruce sometimes seemed a bit like he thought this was some lesson taught.

And now it was him, Damian, and Alfred. And he was Batman, and Damian was Robin.

And that was Tim, the small form crouched like a coiled spring, like a boy who knew what he was doing.

That was Tim, keeping lookout for the Red Hood.

"He's a traitor. Do you want me to--" Damian started, but Dick gave him a severe look.

"We don't know what happened yet. Do not hurt him."

"He's not _really_ your or my brother," Damian commented, and Dick could almost feel the sharp look he was getting through the whites of Damian's mask.

"He's my brother," Dick responded, a bit more shortly than he'd meant to, and dropped down to the street. He could feel the irritation rolling off of Damian in waves, but the boy dutifully kept to his back-left, in his shadow.

Tim saw them immediately, and straightened up from the lower ledge he'd been perched on. It was a small shop, it had those sort of ledges. The frosted glass labeled it as some old-school toy shop. It definitely wasn't that anymore.

But Tim stayed where he was. He looked down on them, and sort of tilted his head to the side.

For a horrific moment, Dick had the thought that Tim _couldn't_ talk, that he had been made mute--but Damian snapped out, "Drake! We all knew that you'd wind up a traitor. My only surprise is that you didn't end up working for someone truly pathetic such as the Penguin."

"Not much pathetic about Penguin," Tim pointed out, still watching them and not coming down. "I think he's done an impressive job, given his disabilities. The same can't be said for you, _Robin._ "

Damian growled, but Dick put an arm out, saying, "No."

And then Dick said, "So it is you."

"I didn't think you were really the big man," Tim commented, and Dick thought he could see another tilt of the head, more slight. A small bit of the lower lip. "He out of town?"

He didn't know. Dick's heart sank just a bit, but at the same time, he wasn't certain how to feel. He wanted to just grab Tim and take him home, but he wasn't certain what was going on. "Tim--"

"Red Robin." Tim corrected this, still watching them. 

" _Red_?" Damian scoffed, "You're barely wearing red, and do you realize how completely unoriginal--"

"I don't see many robins with green in their coloring," Tim pointed out, and still, he wasn't all that combative. "Robins have red on their breast, in the case of the North American red-breasted robin, which is the most common in this area. In this case, it makes more sense than your name or costume."

"Tim," Dick broke in, not really wanting them to squander this opportunity by arguing, "Are you okay? Please, tell me why you're doing this."

Tim's vision flicked over his shoulder, and he pressed his lips together. Then he murmured, "None of your business."

That was definitely not the Tim Dick had known six months ago. Not that Tim wasn't private, because he very much was, but he would tell _Dick_.

"I'm afraid it is our business, traitor--" Damian started, obviously not at all sorry it was their business, but that was when a voice cut in--Jason.

"Hey! Haven't seen you guys in a while, huh?" It was a cocky announcement, with some aggression in the subtext.

His hands were on his guns, which were in their holsters, and he had tilted his red, shiny helmet to the side. A sort of devil may care posture--and Dick really wished he could see his face, to see if he was smirking. He was harder to read with the helmet--that was part of the point.

And Dick felt a flare of anger. "Jason."

"He has a name-dropping problem," Tim commented, now crouched and with his arms folded over his knees. Like he was just a spectator.

He said it almost like Dick wasn't there. It was a weird thing to try to explain. He was talking to _Jason_ over Dick. Like Jason was the person who mattered here. And that curdled Dick's stomach.

"Hey, _Batman_. How's your new Robin? He seems kinda short and bloodthirsty to me," Jason said, and Dick was sure he could hear the smirk. And the slight turn towards Tim.

He could see Tim's mouth was in a thin line.

Damian's snarl said a number of things. 'I'm going to be taller than Drake.' 'I am not bloodthirsty.' 'How dare you, I'm going to kill you.'

Dick stepped in the way, and fast. "What did you do to Tim?"

"Do? _Do?_ Hey, Little Red, why don't you tell them? I got shit to do." Jason turned back towards the store--his posture was cocky, like he knew exactly what would happen.

"You're not going anywhere--" Dick stopped short when Tim got in the way, bo staff pointed at him threateningly. No, why the hell would Tim want to fight him? Especially for the Red Hood?

"I'm afraid I am, Big Bird. See you in a bit, Little Red." He leaned in, patted the side of Tim's head in what could be--what seemed to be _affectionate_ , and that wasn't right, how could Tim let him do that? 

"Tim, you don't want to fight us," Dick said, hands out placatingly.

"You mean, you don't want to fight me," Tim observed, still steadfastly in place like he would fight them to the death.

" _I_ want to fight you--" Damian snapped, but Dick again blocked him. Damian was getting more and more wound up at this point.

Tim was clearly ready to fight, but wasn't attacking. His black costume made him stand out a bit against the soft light of the store, and he had pressed his mouth into a thin line again--like he was holding something back.

"Tim, come on--just come home. We've been worried sick--"

Tim let out a snort at that, a sort of laugh--but it sounded like it hurt. "Yeah, so worried. That's why you found me. That's why you got a replacement. That's why there's been no mention of me anywhere."

Dick's stomach seemed to drop. "What--no, Tim, that's not--"

"Jason was right. It's not a home, it's not a family--it's a roster. And they drop you faster than you can blink when you become inconvenient or no longer useful." Tim was starting to circle him a bit, and his voice was almost dead.

"Tim, god...That's not how it is at all, we _couldn't_ find you," Dick said, a sudden desperation rising in his chest. Tim wasn't going to fight him--he didn't really believe those things, did he?

"Liar!"

He did.

Tim's voice was heated, as he snapped, "I have been here _six months._ The first two, I did everything I could to escape. Everything I could to send you a sign. You _never_ picked up on them--because you weren't looking. Because you didn't give a shit. Jason was right--he told me he was protecting me from you guys. That you'd get me killed, that you wouldn't care. He was right."

Dick's heart twisted painfully in his chest. "No..."

He felt like he might faint. How could Tim seriously believe it? How could Jason have done this to him?

But he fought the wave of nausea, and faced Tim. "No, no, that's not what happened--Tim, we searched those whole two months, longer--we couldn't find you. He hid you too well, he knew where we'd look--we didn't even know who'd taken you!"

"Ta da. Here I am. You must be so proud of your tracking and rescue skills," Tim said, voice back to a flat tone. 

"Tim--"

And Tim charged him, lips scrunched shut and a definite rage hidden behind that black mask. Dick didn't have his escrima, his favored weapon--so he dodged the bo staff, and then sent an uppercut into Tim's face. Enough to disorient, hoping to disarm him and capture him peacefully.

He could see Damian out of the corner of his eye, moving to be his shadow, and snapped, "No, Damian, get back!"

Tim took that opportunity to deliver a crushing blow to Dick's collarbone. Without the armor he was wearing, it would have broken it. Instead, it was just white pain and sent Dick onto his knee.

"You lied," Tim murmured, the only words he would apparently allow as he swung for Dick's knee, intending clearly to incapacitate him.

Dick moved in time, catching Tim on the downward motion and throwing him over his shoulder. Not much fun to be thrown by an opponent in general, but of course, Tim knew how to land, and was already getting to his hands and knees by the time Dick turned around.

"Tim, please, stop, I don't want to hurt you--"

Tim gave him the slightest of smiles. "That's a lie. We both know it. We all know it. It was always lies with every last one of you."

"No--Tim, do you think Stephanie lied to you? Babs? Alfred? _Me?_ " Dick found it hard to voice the last one, hard to believe that Tim didn't trust him anymore.

Tim's mouth tightened into a frown. "Steph is dead. Babs was shot--lied to as well. Where was Bruce when that happened? Both lied to. Alfred..." he wavered a moment, "Alfred doesn't count. And you. Of course, you lie. That _symbol_ is a lie--both of them. A broken promise, always."

And Damian tackled him at that point, snapping, "Stop talking nonsense, it's not a lie!"

And Tim drove an elbow into Damian's face, rewarded with a sickening snap sound.

Dick's breath caught in his throat, but he ran forward anyway, seeing Damian's face drip with blood--a broken nose was certainly not a clean affair--and the boy screamed with fury, landing a punch on Tim's face, roughly eye area.

He hit it three times, until the lense cracked, broke--and Tim could probably take pain, Dick didn't know what tortures he could take at this point--but Tim gasped, an almost fearful sound, at the shards falling into his eye.

"Stop! Damian, you'll blind him, Tim, just stop, please!"

Tim expertly switched positions with Damian, who had been straddling his hips, and ended up in guard position, hands clenched in Damian's tunic and the eye uncovered by a lense shut tight as glittering bits fell.

And Damian stabbed him. _Stabbed_ Tim, right in the wrist.

Tim gasped, drove his knee into Damian a touch haphazardly, and quickly made space between them. 

Even in this light, Dick could see the blood staining the black of his sleeve. Tim's good hand pressed to his ear, and he murmured, "Red Hood. I need to--"

He wished he could hear the other side of the conversation. He wished he could know what the hell Jason was saying to Tim.

Because Tim murmured, "But I can't. Hood, I--" he added, "I'm injured," in a smaller voice, a voice that said he wasn't supposed to be injured.

"There's the two--" Tim cut off, mouth pressed into a tight line again. "Yeah. Yeah, I got it."

"Tim, you don't have to do this," Dick said, wanting to just grab him, run, protect his brother from all of this. This life was destroying all the people it touched, and Dick hadn't wanted to rip off the goddamn costume more than he did now, which was saying a lot.

"I do." Tim held his hands in front of himself in an attack stance, one that could block or strike. His bleeding wrist trembled a little.

Tim might be able to...but Dick wasn't so sure _he_ could. Because he'd realized a key thing here.

Tim was going to fight them even if it _killed_ him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight with Tim ends about as well as Dick could have expected.

Dick was intent on keeping Damian back. The boy _would not_ hold back now that Tim had broken his nose.

“Tim, please, let’s talk about this—“

“We should have talked months ago. When you should have found me,” Tim replied, an edge of pain and fear in his voice. His hands were tight in their positioning, in open hands rather than fists—not an indication of not wanting to hurt them, but just what style he was going to use.

“Let me fight him—“ Damian snarled, a bubble of blood coming out of his nose.

“No!” Dick’s voice was more frantic than he would have liked. He wanted to bandage Tim’s arm, seeing the way it trembled and the quiet plop of a couple of drops of blood. He could have cut through the tension with a knife. Dick was like a string pulled near to breaking point. “Tim, please—“

“Red Robin. New and improved,” Tim said rather flatly, and flew at him.

He went for a strike to Dick’s solar plexus, and Dick had to block Damian at the same time as fighting Tim, so he took the hit in the shoulder, seizing Damian’s wrists. The boy was having none of it, already trying to use pressure points to break free as he snapped at Dick, but Dick’s focus was on leaving this with Tim alive, and the teen was trying to force him to fall, foot hooked around his and hand gripping the back of his uniform as he slammed a fist into his gut.

Dick managed to react well, taking the hit again and rolling into the fall, trusting Damian to do the same as the force took them both forward, which he did. But it also gave him to opportunity to break free, and Damian was already slamming viciously into Tim’s knee by the time Dick got there.

He could hear the strangled sound of pain from Tim, the way he countered by bringing said knee up—his hands clasped on the back of Damian’s head, smashing the boy’s face once again.

“No! Stop, goddamnit!” Dick got in between them, literally scooping Damian up and holding him tightly to get him away. Damian was clearly furious, spitting blood as he spat, “Grayson, unhand me this instant, I need to kill the traitor—“

“Let him try, if he’s the latest model,” Tim responded, voice holding a tinge of dead. He was standing a bit awkwardly, and Dick knew that Damian’s hit to his knee was a solid one. And he attacked Dick’s back, so that he had to let go of Damian to counter.

And Dick knew he had to put Tim out of the fight, incapacitate him, or else Damian was going to kill him—or Tim was going to kill himself fighting them.

He broke a knockout pellet open in Tim’s face, the boy’s face showing shock before he managed to pull away. Not enough to knock him out, but he was staggering drunkenly.

And Damian took the opportunity to nail him in the chest with a kick. 

Tim fell to his knees, gasping for breath and in pain. His stabbed arm refused to support him, and he fell further, half onto his front. And Damian was about to finish him, but Dick intervened in time, _thank god_ , getting in between them and grabbing Tim.

He had him, he could save him now.

Tim managed a sound of fear in between his wheezing, a feeble struggle, and that was about when there was a blinding pain in Dick’s head.

He came to a millisecond later to see Jason standing over him, shaking his head. “Wow. Just wow. You almost killed Tim there, huh? Almost let your new brat do it. You’re incredible, I’ll give you that, _Batman_.”

He was taunting, using a tone and accusation that Dick should be making against Jason.

“Fuck you, don’t touch him!” Dick shouted, his head seeming to crackle as Jason aimed a gun at him and moved towards Tim.

He could see Tim visibly react in relief. He turned his head towards Jason, a sort of softening of the tension. And Jason had the gall to get down on one knee next to Tim, gun still aimed at Dick as he said, “Hey, Little Red, how we holdin’ up?”

Tim managed a sound, and started hacking and gasping at the same time.

Jason shook his head. “I did tell you. Come on, I’m done here. We’re going home.” And he bodily lifted Tim, ignoring his hiss of pain as he tucked him under an arm.

“This isn’t over—“ Dick started.

“It is. You should leave Tim alone,” Jason said, that hint of a smirk in his voice. And then his gun fired.

But not at Dick.

Damian let out a sound like shock and pain, and Dick’s heart hammered in his chest. He turned to see Damian clutching a bleeding arm, upper right, and he was quickly to his side. “Robin!”

The shock could kill a person alone from a gunshot wound, and Damian seemed to be alive, pale, but not snarling in anger. He’d been shot before, Dick was pretty sure—and he was quick to put pressure on the wound, ignoring Damian’s hiss.

He literally picked up Damian when he heard Jason moving, just wanting to keep him safe.

“You take your bird, I take mine. Though, really, that one’s probably going to be dead fast, what with the Batman track record, huh?” And Jason’s boots scraped as he turned to leave.

“Tim! Don’t go with him, come home—“

Dick’s words were cut off as Jason said coldly, “I’ll shoot the brat again if you don’t shut up.”

And Dick’s chest seemed to clench painfully—he could almost feel Tim’s eyes on him, a tired, ‘I know who you’ll choose, no surprise there’ seeming to emanate.

What killed Dick was that he did have to choose Damian in this situation—and how the fuck was Tim going to understand that? He had clearly been fucked up mentally, and it was excruciating as he stood, and ran, taking Damian with him.

Jason was going to pay for this. Dick was going to save Tim.

\--

Alfred was understandably distraught to hear what had become of Tim after all.

He stitched up Damian’s bullet-wound, and Dick thanked everything good that it hadn’t hit bone or something vital—that might be a bit more than Alfred could fix. The boy had to be sedated to get him to lie still enough, and he was looking at them through hazily angry, sleepy eyes. Like he was trying to force himself to be angry even though his body didn’t want to be.

“Master Timothy is resourceful,” Alfred finally said, “Perhaps this is an elaborate ruse.”

“I don’t think so. I really don’t, Al,” Dick said miserably. “He was really fighting us, he seemed to have so much conviction in the idea that we left him…that Jason actually cares about him.” He rubbed his hands on his face. “You think he’s been poisoned?”

Alfred’s face was somber, in pain, as it often had been since Bruce died. “Not in the body.”

It was like a hit to the gut, somehow, and Dick was quiet. Had Tim been tortured mentally? Had his mind been hurt? It was horrific to think about, but it had been six months—more than enough time to break someone.

Especially if that someone was a teenage boy who was constantly forsaken.

Dick ran his hands through his hair. “We have to get him out of there. We can’t leave him with Jason, who knows what the hell he’s done—is doing, to him. He’s…we can’t just leave him.”

Like Tim thought they had. Like Dick had agonized about for months.

Damian let out a half-hearted angry huff, as Alfred closed off the stitch. 

“That should heal quickly,” Alfred said, and his eyes were still pained, like he’d seen too much death and destruction lately.

He set to work splinting Damian’s nose, and Dick was left to his own quiet contemplation.

He couldn’t leave Tim. Not again. He couldn’t leave him there now that he knew who had him. His brain was already going through ideas, trying to figure out how to get him out—

And it was almost funny, because if only Tim were here—he’d have the best plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope it was good! I wanted to update before I left for work! Poor Tim.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick is in agony. And he makes questionable decisions because of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad parenting warning? I guess?

It was an agony, even though it had been months since Dick had had the slightest hope of finding Tim. Of bringing at least one family member back home.

And he had a lead now, a huge one, but it was taking longer to track than he would have liked—he wanted him home this instant, and anything longer was hard to bear. He couldn’t stand the seconds and minutes and hours that crawled by without Tim home and safe.

Damian was not much help.

Semi-sedated, he was still able to badmouth Tim and demand they do things to him as retribution. “Drake ought to be flayed. He was sure to turn on us that way—he was weak, he never truly earned his place here, and he was bound to do that.”

A little less coherent than usual, but it was still grating on Dick. He knew Damian just didn’t get it, didn’t entirely understand things like empathy, had been horribly molded from an impossibly young age—

But he still kind of wanted to punch him.

Being the Batman was difficult on its own. Being the Batman to Damian’s Robin was even more so.

He ran his hands through his hair as he leaned on his elbows in front of the computer screen. Nothing yet. No safehouse that Jason had clearly been keeping up, no movements that pointed to a residence, no patterns to lock in a place to seek Jason and Tim out.

And damn it all, Tim needed out yesterday. Months ago.

“He’s probably pathetically happy to be needed by Todd,” Damian continued, “He never had much value here, after all, since—“

“Damian. Be quiet.”

“I don’t have to. You can’t make me,” Damian grumbled back. His eyelids kept drooping a little, but his eyes still held that petulant stubbornness that Dick had gotten to know all too well.

Dick could have punched through the screen. Instead, he took a couple deep breaths, ignoring the way his lungs seemed to rattle a little. He slowly unclenched his fists, counted a bit, and then looked back at Damian. “I am requesting you be quiet. As your partner, I need you to be quiet so I can work, as this is vital.”

A sneer spread on Damian’s face, even as he blinked somewhat owlishly under the effects of sedative. “A request I am denying. Also, you sound ridiculous when you’re attempting to be more civil and patient than you are.”

“Do you want me to not be patient?!” Dick snapped, fists slamming into the desk.

“You actually want to bring him back, don’t you? How pathetic is it that you want the supposed brother who is happy with a maniac who dishonors the reputation of the Batman?” Damian snapped back, and Dick could see the sheets curled in his grip.

He growled back, “You sit there and be quiet right now, or so help me—“

“You’ll fight me?” Damian demanded, eyes blazing despite the half-asleep look on his face. “Not like precious Drake, who you’ll do anything for—“

“Well, he’s a fucking lot more loveable than you are!” Dick snapped, and that was when the anger just became exhaustion. He turned off the computer, ignoring the deathly glare at his back. “I’ll be upstairs. Sleep. Or don’t.”

And he stalked up the stairs, wondering, not for the first time since being left the mantle, what the hell he was doing, and if he could fuck this up much more than he already had. If he could really make things much worse without direct intention.

Tim. Poor Tim, good god. He needed to get him the hell out of there.

And Damian…

He was a terrible brother on all fronts, it seemed.

For now, Dick curled up on the couch, remembering a time he and Tim had watched some old Woody Allen movie and Tim had vehemently critiqued it. Remembering time spent watching the TV rerun of a parody called SuperAwesome and laughing til their sides hurt as they made jokes about the movie. Staying with Tim during an episode of the flu (undoubtedly brought on by lack of care for his immune system).

He missed him. He missed him like hell, the space that had slowly been able to be quieted, medicated with work and distractions hurting like someone had stabbed him in the chest.

It made it hard to swallow.

He wanted so badly to take action. He felt almost like he might implode if he didn’t. If he didn’t rescue his ‘baby bird’ from Jason. 

Jason, who had taken and hurt and corrupted Tim.

What kind of person did that? Who the fuck hurt a kid like that? How could _Jason_ live with himself? The kid he’d been would have sooner died.

Well…he did die. Not by refraining from doing this, but…

Dick didn’t want to think about it. Wanted to just hate Jason with all his might, relegate him to pure evil and Tim to the poor child he needed to rescue.

Tim would never do this sort of thing. Not the Tim he knew. Tim had morals as unbendable as iron—in certain parts. He only had a few such morals, but they included not doing the things he’d done. Rules were neither to be blindly followed or strictly blown off, but bent or broken when necessary, followed otherwise.

He was a cynical idealist. Bright eyed enthusiasm for doing good while still believing himself not worth as much as others and not expecting people to value him highly, or especially legit love him.

Dick wished he could pull Tim into his arms right then. Could tell him over and over again that they cared about him, that he loved him, that he was his kid bro and how the hell could he not love him, had he ever met himself?

He almost laughed at that, imagining Tim’s face at such a statement.

And then nearly cried, knowing that Tim might be gone. For a long time, or forever.

He threw himself off the couch. He was finding Tim if it killed him. He’d failed his brother enough already, he needed to find him.

And he had to go down to the batcave to do that.

Unless he beat anyone he could find for information on Red Hood’s whereabouts. Anyone known to be related. Anyone who could possibly know.

Red Hood had a small posse, people on his ‘side.’ Not a proper gang, but more than enough people to go through.

He could shake them until they dropped a location.

And he wouldn’t have to go back to the batcave for very long.

He marched down there, changing wordlessly. He could feel Damian’s eyes on him, something piercing and heated, but Damian said nothing, clearly still waiting for the sedative to wear off. He might physically fight Dick when that happened. Such was the joy of Damian as his Robin.

His heart gave a weird twang. He had…said some things he shouldn’t have. 

And, it would have to wait to be resolved. He couldn’t put Tim off. He couldn’t.

He glanced at Damian, to see the boy in his sweats and undershirt sitting there on the cot near the computer desk, hate in his eyes. As there often was.

He almost said, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.’

But he just couldn’t go through that right now, because it wouldn’t end with that. It would be lengthy and emotionally draining and he just…he had to find Tim.

So he left, suited up as Batman.

He was going to regret that decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He should handle it, obviously, but the stress is clouding his judgment.
> 
> This ain't gonna end well.
> 
> Also, Jay is certainly not pure evil, but it's easier for Dick that way right now.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick finds Tim.
> 
> This isn't really an improvement on things.

Dick was sweating. He was both furious and nervous and he hated not knowing where the hell Tim was. He’d hated it for months.

And now here this mook of Red Hood’s was, and he wouldn’t spill the location.

“Batman wouldn’t kill,” was the defense the mook made, and it was true that the Red Hood killed. It was a valid defense.

Dick didn’t care about valid right now. “Tell me where he is, or I might make an exception,” Dick growled, “This is someone extremely important to me--”

“We know he’s the old Robin,” came the response, “But bro, you don’t know what the Hood will do if we endanger him.”

“Do you know what I’ll do if you don’t tell me?” Dick snarled back. He had once killed for Tim. He wasn’t sure he would stop if he had to do it again.

The man’s face paled, and he murmured, “It’s—they’re on Old Broad Street. The dead theater. McDonnell’s.”

It was definitely a worse part of Gotham. And since it was Gotham, that was saying a lot. Dick threw the man against the wall, and knocked him out with spray. The throw had been unnecessary, probably.

Probably.

But he couldn’t risk him alerting Jason. So he swooped away as fast as he could to find Tim, to rescue his brother. 

He really shouldn’t have done it, he thought to himself, as he peered in the windows. Nothing. But that made sense—it was probably better protected and hidden than that.

It was wrong. He had no right to harm that man that way.

He’d make up for it after he got Tim back, he told himself guiltily.

Somehow, he’d make up for it.

He sneaked past the sensors he found, and it was very standard, in some ways, to a Batman setup—complex and tricky, but standard enough. He walked straight up to a door that seemed like the entrance to the living area, a small symbol scratched on it.

It looked like a bird.

He got ready for the worst, and then knocked on the door. Stood off to the side from the apparent peephole.

The door creaked open cautiously, as Tim’s voice came out. “Jay, I already know not to--”

Dick had tackled him before he could finish the sentence, the annoyance in Tim’s tone quickly changing to a yelp of alarm. He already had a knee up and in Dick’s ribs before they hit the floor, driving the breath out of Dick, and then forcing him off.

Dick, however, was prepared for this, and managed to get Tim in a hold against the floor, pinning his arms and sitting on his hips—just below, actually, more on the upper thighs.

“Tim, stop, it’s me!”

But now Tim was thrashing, fighting the hold, his legs working to try to kick Dick and his arms straining to move. His blue eyes were wide, his breath coming to him in gasps. 

“Tim, calm down, it--”

“Jason!” came the unexpected scream, followed up by a more shrill one, “ _Jason!_ ”

Dick was stunned, but quickly recovered to cover Tim’s mouth. He could feel Tim’s breath whistling through his nose, and he assured, “I’m not going to hurt you, Baby Bird, I swear. You’re okay. You’re okay. I just gotta get you out of here.”

Tim struggled anyway, eyes seeming to fill with tears. It hurt Dick to watch, to know that Jason had tricked him into feeling safer here, somehow. And Tim felt somehow feebler than before, somehow smaller. It was strange, but not a surprise--Jason had to break his will somehow.

It hurt Dick, but he had to save Tim—and that meant knocking him out, clearly, since he wouldn’t come along willingly. 

Tim knew exactly what he was doing the instant he reached for the knockout gas in his belt, and since his mouth was uncovered, he started to shout at Dick. “Stop, stop, you don’t want to—I can’t be knocked out, you have to stop--!”

And Dick quickly covered his mouth again, the knockout pellet in his hand but unopened. He could feel Tim’s frantic breaths over his hand, and the way he was going to hyperventilate soon. Tim’s arms started to somehow push harder, and it was taking so much effort to hold them both there with just one hand, even if he did have gravity on his side.

“Tim, it’s okay, it’s just the standard knockout gas. I won’t let anyone harm you while you’re out,” he reassured, and Tim let out a noise through his hand, one that sounded desperate.

He was about to break open the pellet when the barrel of a gun suddenly pressed against the back of his head, and the growl of, “Get the fuck off of Tim,” came from behind.

“I’m not going to do that,” Dick said evenly. He honestly wasn’t sure the cowl could take that kind of shot, but it might. It might, and it was worth the risk.

“Do I have to kill you? Cause I’d rather at least wait until Tim’s out of the room,” Jason said, somewhat flatly. The gun was still pressing against the back of skull, and Tim’s chest was rising and falling rather fast. Dick didn’t dare move at the moment, not the slightest budge.

“Jason, what the hell do you think you’re accomplishing here? Who do you think you’re sticking it to? Bruce is _gone_ \--”

The sharp intake of breath from Tim reminded Dick that Tim didn’t know Bruce was dead. His eyes grew even wider now, threatening to tear up more. In fact, the alarm was reaching terrified levels.

“Fucking hell, Goldie,” Jason complained, “Are you trying to fucking—goddamnit!”

He growled loudly, the gun pressing more forcefully into Dick’s skull.

This was all going to hell in a handbasket very quickly. If he knocked Tim out, he might be able to fight Jason fairly easily. Jason didn’t _seem_ to be big on physically harming Tim. The instant his fingers twitched, though, Tim let out another noise, maybe a plea, maybe just fear, and Jason snarled, 

“Open that pellet, and it’ll be the last goddamn thing you do. I’ll make sure of it.”

Dick didn’t know if he should ignore such a warning. Tim really wasn’t acting like himself at all, and Jason was...Jason was crazy. As always. Somewhat unpredictable.

Dick took a deep breath. “I’m going to stand up and get off of Tim, okay?”

Jason considered it a moment, and agreed, “Slowly. And don’t use the goddamn pellet.”

Dick stood slowly, and the instant his hand was off Tim’s mouth, he could hear Tim saying, “Don’t kill him, please don’t--”

“Shush, Little Red,” Jason said, and Tim went quiet.

It made Dick see red, and he knocked the gun out of Jason’s hand. It went off, but missed, and another strike sent it flying across the room. Jason tackled him then, away from Tim, and Dick rather liked the fact he wasn’t wearing the red mask—he cracked open the pellet in his face.

Jason knew how to hold his breath in the face of a pellet, of course, but then Dick sucker-punched him in the gut, and he gulped in air involuntarily. He was out before he could get mad about it.

Dick quickly turned back to Tim. Surprisingly, he hadn’t so much as gotten up.

Instead, he was staring at the ceiling, entirely quiet. He was almost frozen, Dick would describe it, not even the fast breaths of before. He carefully leaned down to Tim, and found a pulse. “I’m going to take you home, Tim. It’s okay, Baby Bird.”

Tim tried to hit him, rather feebly, as he scooped him up bridal style. He almost didn’t seem entirely there, eyes staring off into space with a sort of mute horror in them.

Dick cradled him closer anyway.

Hood would be down for more than long enough to leave here quietly.

And so he did, shutting the door and all.

–

It was as he was getting Tim into the Batmobile that Tim seemed to wake up again. Started _screaming_. Shaking violently. Struggling against Dick with a vigor that belied his small figure.

It was all Dick could do not to drop him.

“Whoa, Tim, calm down!”

Tim wasn’t even fighting effectively, just freaking out completely. It was worse than any kind of panic or fear Dick had ever seen Tim go through.

He managed to get free of Dick and fall on the ground—Dick could see some broken glass he’d cut his face open on, the blood falling freely down the pale skin. And then he just scrambled away and _ran_.

“Tim!” Dick shouted after him, running too. Forget the Batmobile, he couldn’t risk running Tim down in this state.

He didn’t know what the hell was going on, only that Tim didn’t even seem to care he was in bare feet, jeans and a t-shirt in the chilly weather in this terrible neighborhood. His feet were probably cut up horribly already.

Dick’s veins seemed to fill with ice as Tim ran right into traffic; this kind of neighborhood, they might not stop.

They didn’t.

The impact seemed to stop Dick’s heart, and then he ran all the faster, desperate to see if Tim was alive.

Tim was slumped, sort of thrown like a rag doll on the sidewalk. Dick got down quickly to check the damage. “No, no, god no, Tim--”

But Tim didn’t respond. He was alive. That was the best Dick could know for sure.

And that was all he could console himself with as he summoned the Batmobile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...might not make a lot of sense.
> 
> Tim is not being tragically broken, to be clear. His neurology has been fucked over, though by what, you'll have to wait and see.
> 
> Dick has not been let in on the details, and hence is making big mistakes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick is trying to save Tim, but it's someone else who may be in more immediate danger.

The fact that Tim had literally charged in front of a vehicle was more than a little shocking to Dick. He practically wept when they put an IV in his arm, struggling feebly in spite of a broken collarbone and several shattered ribs.

Dick tried to shush him softly, saying, “Come on, Tim, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m gonna get you home.”

Then they put an oxygen mask on his face, and there was nothing discernible coming from him.

Dick let the ambulance go, and then awaited the phone call for Dick Grayson. It came to his cell phone not long after, and he acted appropriately shocked. It was second nature at this point, a skill all of them knew.

It wasn’t hard to channel his all too real distress, though.

Tim looked too small in the bed, but he’d looked too small in person and awake too. He seemed even slightly curled, mask on his face and collarbone held secure with a cast.

Dick knew from experience that was not a fun bone to break.

Combine that with the ribs, and one had one hell of a time breathing without agony. It was a blessing he was out, honestly, painkillers pumped into his system once Dick gave the go ahead.

Tim was still a minor, after all, and they needed permission for so many things. 

Dick waited quietly by the bed, hands clasped together between his knees. He wanted more than anything to just instantly heal Tim, to hold him close.

But the freakout was a little sobering in that respect.

He knew he wasn’t getting the sweet Tim back, the one that had loyally trusted his every word. He was getting someone else back, in some ways, even though it was still Tim.

It was a war-torn Tim. One probably covered in scars, mental and physical.

As much as Dick might have once trusted Jason, he wasn’t the same person anymore.

And that thought led him thinking back, severely uncomfortable with the way they’d interacted the two times he’d seen them. Jason talked familiarly in a way that was…not overtly cruel or violent. Maybe affectionate or protective, even.

Which left Dick wondering if Jason had added mind games to his repertoire of being awful to his family.

And that left him clenching the plastic handles of the chair, knuckles hurting a little. He looked over at Tim, watching the soft puff of his breath, and the doctors had said he was having difficulty getting enough oxygen. Dick wasn’t supposed to be alarmed, he was told, it probably was not a serious issue.

What was a serious issue was Tim’s seeming concussion and his broken bones. Not even going into all the bruises littering his body.

Of course, he also had the injuries from fighting him and Damian. The gash in his arm was disturbing to Dick, as he stared at the redone bandages.

It had actually been very well treated, he was told, when they’d uncovered his arm. He had likely seen a doctor, according to the staff, and a damn fine one at that.

It still made Dick grit his teeth.

Tim made a small moan then, fingers curling, and then he tried to move.

Dick gently put a hand on the side of his face, telling him, “Please stay still, Tim. You’re okay, you’re in the hospital. Just relax.”

He could see Tim’s bleary blue eyes open partway, trying to take him in. Trying to focus. He seemed to be having a lot of difficulty with it, eyes not quite zeroing in on Dick.

Dick gently brushed his hair back, feeling it seem to stick to his scalp. Tim shuddered a little at that, eyes seeming to find Dick. He started trying to speak, but that was impeded by both the mask and his ability to form words.

“Tim, it’s okay. You’re okay,” Dick promised again.

Tim let out what sounded like a little moan of despair, and shut his eyes tightly. He sounded like someone trapped in a nightmare, and Dick couldn’t deny that was a reasonable thought.

The pain, the drugs, they had to be frustrating and frightening—but coming out of the Red Hood’s grasp? Or hell, being there at all had to be frightening. Dick couldn’t even imagine having been there six months, let alone whatever dissonance Tim was going through now.

He wouldn’t open his eyes again, and Dick insisted to himself that that was all right, that the lights might be too bright or something.

Or it was the pain.

It wasn’t that he hated the idea of seeing Dick that much.

And so he gently thumbed away the tear streaks still on Tim’s face. Tim seemed to shiver at the touch, eyes squeezing shut tighter.

It kind of hurt. No, it actually hurt a lot. He wanted Tim to trust him, and even though he knew it was unreasonable to expect him to just instantly trust him again, it didn’t change that that was what he wanted.

Tim eventually drifted back off.

And Dick stayed up all night with him.

He should have checked in with home.

–

It was too early in the morning when Dick woke up, back stiff from the chair. He wanted to go home, in some ways, lie in a nice soft bed, but god only knew if Tim had even gotten the chance to do that, if Jason hadn't done something sick like chain him to the wall or something.

Jason was still a human being, Dick started to begrudgingly rationalize, but then he looked at the shattered human in the bed, his own little brother, and all such ration went out the window.

He reached out to move Tim's hair from his eyes once again. It had gotten longer, he realized, a length that wasn't absurd, but just _wasn't Tim_ , and he wondered if cutting it would help Tim. Would help him realize he was back home, safe again.

His big brother _had_ come for him, just not as fast as he should have. As he would have, if he'd known where to find him.

Tim was sleeping still, thank god, the kid needed his rest. The doctor had reported a lot of injuries, and then had asked if Dick thought they needed a more in-depth examination.

Dick had blinked, had asked what else they would expect to find.

She looked uncomfortable, and then said there were strange rings around his wrists and ankles that suggested being restrained. She thought they might be signs of abuse or something similar. She said Nightwing himself had called it in, and she was very concerned about what had happened to the 'poor kid.'

Dick managed to swallow his nausea, and say quietly that, no, it was all right, he'd have the family doctor look Tim over, their doctor was fantastic and he didn't want to upset Tim more right now.

The doctor had left him in relative peace then.

It was a mercy Tim was asleep, he thought again to himself, because he didn't know how he'd explain why he was crying. Why he wanted so desperately to go back in time and fix this somehow.

Tim wasn't going to be the same. He wasn't deluded enough to believe he would the same.

And then his phone rang, and not only did Tim startle awake, but Dick had the jerking wake up call of his life.

"Master Damian has gone in pursuit of the Red Hood. He left me a note detailing as much," Alfred's somber and yet urgent voice relayed, 'Wherever you are, I urge you to find him immediately."

Jason didn't kill kids, as far as Dick knew, but his blood still ran cold. "I got it, I'm on it."

He'd already hung up by the time he realized Tim was on the floor and trying to pick the goddamn IV out of his arm. Dick hoisted him up quickly, ignoring his noise of protest, a high-pitched sound that cut through his chest. He couldn't stay too long, he could barely stay at all.

"Tim, stay here. I need you to stay here."

"He...ssss... _Jason_ ," Tim managed to slur around the oxygen mask, feebly fighting against Dick. The morphine was not doing any wonders for his diminished ability to fight.

"He's not getting to you," Dick promised firmly, "He's never touching you again."

Dick's hand abruptly went numb, where Tim had apparently pinched a nerve _on purpose_ , and Dick managed to force him back onto the bed with the other one, snapping, "Tim, stop it, don't fight me!"

"Lemme go," Tim murmured, voice small yet desperate, and Dick did something a little bit despicable.

A lot despicable.

He turned up the morphine dose. Within safe levels, of course, but soon Tim was drooping even more drowsily, eyes fighting so hard to stay open. He managed a half sigh, a noise of protest, before he had to stay still.

It worked remarkably fast, and Dick felt bad, but he'd had to--Damian was in danger.

So he took off, intending to save his other little brother.

From the one who he could only consider a former brother at best. The one who kept trying to take them out of some twisted sense of revenge. 

Jason Todd, once Robin, once dead, and now alive and most definitely not Robin.

And Dick didn't think he would ever forgive him if he hurt Damian too. He wasn't sure he could forgive him if he never did anything to Damian, knowing what he'd already done to Tim.

He didn't care what had been done to Jason, it could never justify any of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah. Tim is definitely under the influence at this point, even if the drugs are legal. That is not a pleasant thing in normal circumstances, let me tell you.
> 
> As for Dick, he's hoping he's doing the right thing to help Tim, but he ain't, and he kinda knows it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason and Dick have a confrontation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING FOR MENTIONS OF SUICIDE/SUICIDE ATTEMPT

Damian was too stupid to live.

No, that was mean and wrong to say, but it didn’t stop the frantic patter in Dick’s chest, cursing Damian and Jason and himself over and over again as he rushed.

Damian wasn’t stupid. He was just determined and bullheaded and all the things that helped him survive.

He’d been through shit of all kinds.

Dick still could see Tim’s eyelids shutting against his will, the way his body slumped, the look in his eyes. He couldn’t believe he’d done it, and that was such a—a _Bruce_ thing to do, wasn’t it? Knocking out someone he loved against their will?

Very much Bruce.

And Dick supposed he was filling his role as Batman very well.

Jason’s hideout wasn’t hard to find all over again. And he had thought Jason wouldn’t definitely get the hell out of there, but that wasn’t the case.

The place was trashed, but there Jason was, the door off its hinges to show him seated on top of Damian, gun pressed to his head. Dick couldn’t tell if Damian was conscious.

“You--”

Dick didn’t even get to finish enunciating that word before Jason snapped at him.

“No, you listen right now, goldie. Here’s what’s going to happen: the little demon here will die unless you let Tim go.” Jason’s voice held a surprisingly quiet venom, deadly serious. His green eyes, slightly glowing, Dick realized with horror, met Dick’s with a ferocity that said he meant every goddamn word.

“Tim can’t be let go,” Dick said, “And you can’t expect me to return him to you. Once his head clears, he won’t want to be here.”

His heart was pounding in his chest, but he couldn’t just hand Tim back so goddamn easily. He had to try.

Jason wouldn’t.

He would never shoot a kid.

Jason bared his teeth. “His head isn’t going to clear, especially after what you fucking did. And if he can’t be let go, then Damian can’t live, you get me?”

Dick didn’t like being presented with black and white options like this, honestly. It made him really want to make his own third option—in this case, one where he kept both of his little brothers. Both safe and not with a homicidal maniac—or dead.

“Goldie, if you want to gamble, these are pretty high stakes,” Jason growled, seeming to press the gun harder into Damian’s skull. Damian didn’t make a sound.

“What do you want me to do? I can’t just apparate Tim here!” Dick snapped, suddenly wanted to seize Damian, to pull him out of harm’s way. Yeah, they didn’t always get along (in so many ways), but Damian was a _child_ and he was small and helpless and he didn’t deserve this. 

He was missing one of his Robin boots, Dick realized, and he could see it laying on its side, distinctive tread showing, across the room.

And Jason let out a snort of laughter. “Really? Harry Potter? You know Tim doesn’t even like Harry Potter, don’t you?”

Dick scoffed. “That’s ridiculous, Tim loves Harry Potter. He got a chance to read it, unlike Damian. You know what it was like for Damian? He--”

“Raised to be an assassin, brutal, ruthless, lacking empathy of all kinds, and oh hey, he tried to murder Tim. And still thinks he’s pretty awesome for it, doesn’t he?” Jason growled back, and Dick hoped to god he was bluffing.

Jason wouldn’t murder Damian.

Right?

“Jay, think about what you’re doing--”

“Don’t ‘Jay’ me, you and I never got along,” Jason said sharply. “You’re way too self-absorbed and holier than thou, asshole.”

And Dick could feel anger flare in his chest, because that just wasn’t true. “You and I might not have been close, but I tried, okay? I’d never had a sibling, Bruce picked you up when we were still fighting, and--”

“Ah, picked me up. Like some garbage he found on the ground to replace his golden child, right?” Jason sneered at him.

“This isn’t about us!” Dick snapped. “It’s about Tim and Damian, and you need to leave them out of your goddamn vengeance!”

“So, let me get this straight: you think me taking care of Tim after you were a total ass to him and left him to die alone, is vengeance? Goddamn, Goldie, if you can’t have em, you don’t want anyone else to either, huh?”

Dick could only stare stupidly. “I didn’t leave him to...what?”

He didn’t leave Tim to die. What the hell was Jason talking about? Or was it a game, a trap to make him doubt himself? It didn’t happen that way, he knew that much.

“Let me refresh your memory—small and bloodthirsty here shows up at the manor. Kills some guys, then decides to take out Tim and take his place. Tim almost dies, but you knew that. Guess who gets to stay anyway?”

He tapped Damian’s skull with the gun. “This one, right here!”

He continued on. “In the meantime, Tim’s mental health declines, as well as physical health, if we’re being honest. He feels more and more disconnected from his family—that’s you, and Bruce. Probably Cass and Babs too, but, you know. Not long before this, Tim had lost his father, his girlfriend, and two of his best friends.” Jason made a motion like a sled going down a hill. A very steep hill.

Dick glared. “I was trying! I didn’t just abandon him--”

“Yeah, sure, save it for the end. Jump back about six months ago. Somebody apparently thought it was a wonderful idea for Tim to patrol solo in his condition—which, by the way, I would rate at about three out of ten. You ever seen someone look so tired you thought their eyes might be bleeding behind their mask? Yeah, that’s about what I thought when I saw Tim.”

“So you abducted him,” Dick said hotly, able to latch on to this bit of the story.

Jason shook his head. “I hung back. It wasn’t my goddamn business, and I thought maybe someone actually was keeping an eye or some shit. You know who did show up, though?”

Dick didn’t say it, letting Jason do so.

“Yup, Scarecrow. And he had a new concoction that he practically drenched Tim in.” Jason was staring across at him in a rather accusatory way.

This turned Dick's stomach a little. He hadn't caused this, no matter what Jason said. He'd just been...he'd been trying to hold things together. Bruce had still been alive then, there was no reason he could be blamed. Or should be...right?

"What did it...what did it do to him?" Dick asked, not wanting to really envision it. He'd seen Tim on fear toxin before--kid tended to be good at pushing through it. Not that there hadn't been moments of rocking his little bro back and forth as he was hysterical, but Tim weathered it well. Better than most.

Dick had always told him he had a will of steel.

He knew Tim had that. That he wouldn't stop for anything if he had any reason to continue on.

"Maybe you should have been keeping an eye on him, then you'd know," Jason sneered. "In any case, he didn't even know it was me who took him til like, a week in."

Dick couldn't imagine what Tim must have thought he was going through. Or what he did go through, honestly, because Jason was an asshole and hated Tim anyway. He wouldn't leave him be just because he didn't have full awareness.

"Jason, whatever you did to him--"

"Me? Seriously? What about Crane?" Jason glared at Dick, gun still firmly against Damian's skull. "What about the guy who legit tried to either drive Tim insane or kill him? Or, drive him into killing himself--guess who had to hide all the fucking sharps and shit?"

"Because he was trying to get away from _you_ \--" Dick insisted, knowing Tim would seek out weapons if he had none, anything for an advantage in that situation. Like he would, like Damian would, like even Jason would.

"Nope, wrong. The little fucker almost got his wrists open, okay?" Jason seemed to stop to swallow a moment, and then he looked straight across at Dick. "I saved his life. You nearly caused it to be taken. He's mine now."

It was so ridiculous that if Dick's stomach weren't shriveling in horror, he would have laughed. Like Tim could just be claimed, like Jason had saved up enough tokens or something. Like Jason would ever have a right to Tim.

He couldn't find what to say, except, "His life won't be endangered again. I'll make sure of it. Let Damian go."

"You do realize Damian came here to kill me, right? I didn't kidnap him," Jason pointed out.

"You have him now!" Dick found himself snapping back. He didn't particularly care about the details as long as that gun was no longer pointed at Damian's brain.

"Fair point," Jason said, tone clearly intended to be light but the anger betrayed anyway. "Fair point. And you still have Tim. Get him here, or you won't see Tiny here again. Got me?"

And, in an explosion of smoke, Jason was taking off. Dick rushed forward, but he wasn't able to find Jason before his exit with Damian.

Jason was also a bat, after all.

He found the exit Jason had taken fairly fast, but it was no use--Jason was long gone, the skid marks of his motorcycle the only clue.

Dick gritted his teeth. If Jason thought he could take both of his younger brothers and live to tell the tale...well, he wouldn't break the no-killing rule. He wouldn't, he reminded the red crackling in the corners of his brain.

But Jason was going to regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm starting to get back on track with some of my stories. The more delicately plotted ones have me in a small despair, though.
> 
> As for Jay, we're seeing some of the Lima Syndrome going on here, the unhealthy codependence, I guess. Cause, yeah, he's not pure evil or something, but he's also not strictly good for Tim. You shall see more of the backstory in the next chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason plays a game with Dick, involving Damian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...this might be slightly weird. I am tired.

By the time Dick made it back to the hospital, he was awash with painful emotions. He couldn’t just _give up_ Tim to Jason, a crazed person, and yet, he also couldn’t allow Damian to be hurt.

Circling back to Tim had been out of fear of Jason going there.

But instead, Tim was his own biggest problem at the moment.

He had managed to get out the IV, get to the floor, and start crawling. Dick knew he was pretty heavily sedated, hence the crawling, but it was kind of impressive that he’d made it so far. And agonizingly frustrating at the same time.

He hauled Tim up, ignoring the angry sound and jab in the ribs that _should not_ have hurt that much at his present strength level.

“Lemme go!” Tim demanded, words slightly slurred but emotion clear.

“Timothy Jackson Drake,” Dick found himself almost growling as he got him back in the bed, “You stay right here! I’m not losing you again, do you understand me?”

And Tim literally clawed at his face, an angry sob coming from him.

“Jesus, Tim!” Dick got ahold of his hands and held them away from his face. His patience was running pretty thin, and maybe it shouldn’t be, but Tim needed to stop fighting him, couldn’t he understand that he was trying to _help_ him?

Tim sobbed again, fingers curled tightly, and demanded, “Jason, please—“

“I’m not letting him have you,” Dick responded, very dismayed by the insistence. Tim should be happy to be home, to be with him—he’d always been so important in Tim’s life, and he didn’t expect Tim to come back full of joy at seeing him, but this was more than disheartening.

This was devastating.

And he still had to save Damian.

“Tim, I want you to listen to me,” he said, directing Tim’s bleary eyes towards him by holding his chin. He held his wrists in one hand, his brother not strong enough right now to break free.

“No,” Tim responded.

“Well, you have to,” Dick tried, and with a firmer voice, continued, “I rescued you from Jason. He took you after an attack. He’s not protecting you, and he doesn’t care about you—I do. I’m trying to help you, but you’re very sick—“

“No shit!” Tim practically snarled, trying to jerk his head free.

“Tim, come on, look at me,” Dick tried again, “Just stay calm, I’m trying to help you!”

“Lemme go!” Tim shouted now, and when Dick started to get him back more onto the bed, he yelled, “No! No! You can’t—!”

“I can, and I will,” Dick said sternly. His chest hurt, but this was what was best for Tim. He clearly didn’t understand what was going on at all, and Jason had hurt him—probably the fear gas too, if Jason was telling the truth.

And Dick had to save Damian. He didn’t have time to reason with Tim.

“I want to go home!”

It was just about the longest sentence Tim had managed, and with the redness of his face and the tears, Dick felt a painful throb in his chest. 

“Timmy, I promise you’re going to go home soon, okay?” his voice was softer now, not wanting to frighten Tim.

Tim’s eyes searched his, and then he nodded slowly, some relief coming into his posture. Not a lot, given the tense way he looked ready spring out of the bed, but he wasn’t yelling at Dick.

“Now. You need to let them put an IV back in your arm—“ Dick started, but Tim cut him off.

“No! They can’t, _I can’t_ \--“ Tim was pleading with him.

His blue eyes looked almost blurry in the way they were darting around the room, and they didn’t really seem to focus on Dick much. It was almost like he was looking at other people, but Dick wouldn’t go that far. It was still Tim in there.

And it was mostly the sedatives, anyway. The exhaustion, the painkillers.

“Tim. Stay here, let them help you,” Dick responded, and then his phone made its alert noise.

_You have somewhere between an hour and thirty-five minutes, Goldie. Bring Tim, or Tiny gets it._

And Dick knew that, once again, he had to make a choice. And that choice was to strap Tim into the goddamn bed.

It made him kinda want to die when Tim sobbed at him, ‘you’re gonna kill me,’ but he had to. He _had to._ The nurse came in when he called her, and he was grateful once again for the private suite—no one had heard the confrontation. She got an IV back in Tim’s arm, and got the sedative going again.

The look in her eyes said, ‘I hate seeing a kid in this much pain.’

But she didn’t question Dick’s rapid requests to keep an eye on Tim and keep him reasonably sedated. She didn’t, and Dick was suddenly extremely grateful for the weight the Wayne name and money carried.

Someone else might have pried or thought something wrong.

He took off to meet Jason.

\--

Jason was right where he said he’d be. He had a trussed up Damian, who was quite conscious and seemingly ready to tear out someone’s throat. He was still struggling angrily, and his angry green eyes landed on Dick next, and he glared, as if to say, ‘the fuck are you doing here?’

“Well. Here you are. But where’s fucking Tim?” Jason demanded.

Dick took a deep breath. He had to play this right, he had to protect Damian without giving up Tim. “Jason, think about what you’re doing. Damian is a _child_ \--“

“Nope, no pay no play, Goldie,” Jason responded, and then, startlingly, he threw Damian to Dick.

“What--?” Before Dick could figure out why Damian was in his arms, having reflexively caught him, Jason continued on,

“There’s a bomb strapped to Damiankins there. Might want to get it off and de-activated before I decide to set it off.”

And then he turned to leave.

“Wait! Where are you going?” Dick demanded.

“To get Tim. It’s gonna be a hassle to break into a goddamn hospital, but, you know, you do what you gotta,” Jason said, no hint of a smirk in his voice.

“Jason! Don’t hurt innocent people--!”

“Hey, this is on you. You’re the one who brought innocent people into this,” Jason snapped, and then he nodded towards Damian. “Might want to figure that out fast. I forget if I set it for twenty minutes or _five_.”

Dick cursed, heart pounding in his chest as he went at Damian’s elaborate bonds with a batarang. Jason was going to take Tim. Jason might _blow up_ Damian.

And it was on him to get it right. No Bruce to come swinging in to save the day.

He removed the gag from Damian’s mouth with a flick of the batarang, and Damian snarled, “It’s just like that Todd to threaten my life for—“

“Damian, where did he put the bomb?”

Damian’s attitude was put aside instantly. “Under my left armpit. It sounded like a four letter or number code, given the noises made when he pressed buttons.”

And the thing was solidly attached. As soon as Dick got Damian’s arm free and could get to his armpit, he could see the thing—little talons pinching into the cloth of Damian’s Robin suit. It also had a countdown in blue digital numbers, currently at 13:27 and ticking. The full range of digits was on a little keypad beneath.

He tugged it, and it instantly took off one minute, then another. He let it go.

He had to crack it another way. Damian said four, so that narrowed it down slightly. He tried to think of what a significant four number code might be.

The year of Jason’s birth? His death? Bruce’s birth year? Something more complex?

“Grayson?” Damian’s voice was quiet, somewhat confused. Like he didn’t understand why Dick hadn’t taken the bomb off yet.

“I got this, don’t worry, just stay still,” Dick murmured, trying the year of Jason’s birth and watching as another minute was removed. Down to almost ten minutes.

His forehead was cold and hot at the same time, he realized, as he carefully examined it further. It was ticking past 8, and at this rate, he’d run out of chances fast.

“Dami, did he say anything to you?”

Damian considered this. “He said that Drake deserved better than people like you and I. He said that we’d betrayed him in almost every way imaginable, and that he was sorry he’d have to blow my brains out. He also stated that we were lucky there wasn’t a fifth robin already, but there would be, if you were so stupid.”

Four. There were four Robins, right?

...except Stephanie.

Stephanie must be the key, right? She was dead, she was only Robin for a month or so, she was made Robin seemingly out of spite and then murdered, just like Jason…

Dick tried, quickly, to remember the date of Stephanie’s death. It wasn’t so long ago, still within this year, so the year wouldn’t make sense…

He could see Damian’s mouth twitch, wanting to ask again why he wasn’t disarming the bomb, but staying silent.

Dick dialled a number. “Alfred, no time to talk, when did Stephanie Brown die?”

Alfred didn’t hesitate, “January the 17 of this year.”

Dick took a breath, and typed in the number. 0117.

All the minutes were deleted, leaving only two seconds. His nerves seemed to instantly fry as he tried to rip it off, cover it, _something_ \--

“Grayson!”

Damian’s voice held sheer panic, and the last second ticked off, and Dick would lose his brother, would lose the only one that he’d kept in one piece after Bruce died--

But instead, the thing started singing a generic tune.

It wasn’t a bomb, but there was no way Dick could have known for sure.

And Tim was probably gone by now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I don't really believe Jason would outright kill Damian.
> 
> ...I hope that wasn't a shitty chapter. I am so tired.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason is at the hospital. Can Dick stop him, or will trying to stop him only make things worse?

Tim was first and foremost in Dick’s mind, even as Damian complained nonstop about ‘Drake’ and how he ‘caused a ridiculous amount of trouble.’

The batmobile went fast, and the fact that an alert was coming from the hospital where Tim was at was not a good sign at all for being able to protect Tim. It stated, through the police report, that an unidentified man had broken in to the hospital and was threatening staff.

The fact he was unidentified hardly set Dick at ease. Just because Jason didn’t bother with the Red Hood getup didn’t mean that he wasn’t there or that he was doing better than usual. The Red Hood was a killer and psychotic at best, wearing the hood or not.

They reached the hospital, and the batmobile stopped with nary a sound, but still Dick almost expected a theatrical squeal and creak. He was leaping out without a word, telling Damian, “Robin, stay back. I can’t have you shot.”

Damian’s face scrunched up angrily. “I’m your partner! I’m going in there with you—“

“You are staying here!” Dick snapped back. He didn’t have time for this!

“I’m coming with you! Don’t attempt to stop me!”

Dick growled, and ran ahead. If he didn’t move fast, Tim would be gone, and he would have to find him all over again.

Damian followed him, taking it for permission, evidently.

The fluorescent lights were bright, little sign there was an emergency as the nurse at the desk tried to calmly direct patients out of the waiting room. She looked to Dick, and said, “Batman, you’ll want Room 101.”

He already knew, but he nodded his thanks, slowing his pace enough to not panic the patients. If they panicked, then there would be many worse injuries and other ill effects of Jason’s raid on the hospital.

A rushing crowd of injured and sick folks was bad in any situation.

The hallway smelled far too much like death and antiseptic, in a way that made Dick absurdly afraid. Like somehow they could have medicined Tim to death. Or like Jason might do that, just to keep him from Dick.

The room was easy enough to reach, though, and Dick slammed open the door.

Jason was there. He had his arms around Tim, rubbing the back of his head and had just reached towards his face when Dick slammed the door.

“For fuck’s sake—“ Jason growled, pointing the gun.

Tim started to make hiccuppy, hysterical protests, but Jason pressed his face against his chest, murmuring, “You don’t have to watch, Little Red.”

And that made Dick see red. “Get the hell away from him!”

Jason’s teeth looked set in a snarl. “Oh, what, so you can finish the job, you goddamn piece of shit?!”

Dick realized that Jason’s jacket was on Tim, and Tim was actually holding on to Jason. Not quite like a drowning victim, but there was a certain amount of desperation. And he could have spit acid at the way the Stockholm Syndrome was clearly playing out.

“I’m trying to take him _home_ , where he belongs!”

“He’s home when he’s with me, not with the people who’re trying to get him killed!” Jason snarled back, and abruptly hefted Tim up. Tim cooperated, arms looping around Jason’s neck.

He still hadn’t even looked at Dick, or even Damian. 

“We’re not trying to get him killed!”

“Uh huh, sure—I’m literally looking at the child who tried to murder him and the big dumbass who let him go out alone in shit condition—plus this whole shit! So fuck that, we’re out of here,” Jason said, his tone not quite as vicious, like he was trying to quiet the rage some.

Which was curious.

And not something Dick had the time to figure out.

He easily blocked the doorway, telling Damian, “Stay back. I’ll handle this.”

“I am your partner, and as such—“

“You’ll do what I tell you, Robin!”

Damian sulked, scowling heavily at Dick.

But Dick couldn’t risk Damian against Jason, because he couldn’t know how far either of them would go against each other. So he let Damian’s feelings be hurt.

“For fuck’s sake, I’m trying to take care of him!” Jason snapped, and Dick realized Tim seemed to be trembling. “You do realize he’s hallucinating pretty hardcore right now? He was literally screaming his fucking head off before I got here!”

Dick couldn’t believe it. “He was not, he’s been sedated—“

“For—remember how I told you about the fear shit? It’s still in his fucking system, dumbass. It doesn’t take a shit ton to activate a pocket—“

“That’s not how fear gas works!” Dick snapped impatiently, “You’re lying!”

“Yeah? Really? Good news, Little Red, you’re not hallucinating, so sayeth the Dick.” Jason almost didn’t seem to be entirely addressing Tim.

And Tim didn’t really respond, eyes probably still shut and face hidden.

Dick huffed. “He’s my brother—“

As if he could reason with Jason. 

“Yeah, you’ve done a shit job with that,” Jason growled. “I don’t claim I totally understand the shit he was soaked in, but it isn’t gone. So you need to fuck off so he can be okay.”

If the fear gas stuff was like Jason was describing, Tim needed his help more than ever. He needed to not be trapped with Jason, he needed to be somewhere where the…the pockets wouldn’t cause a problem.

“Hand him over, and we’ll be able to leave this without upsetting him further, okay?” Dick tried, voice going softer.

“How about fuck you!” Jason snapped, and that was when Tim spoke.

“I didn’t do it—I swear—“

And Jason’s attention immediately snapped to him, smoothing his hair. “No, I know you didn’t. You’re okay, Timbers.”

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” Tim said, “Please don’t kill him because of me. Please, I’m sorry.”

Dick could see Jason’s jaw work a little, as he responded, “You don’t gotta be sorry, kid. No one’s going to be killed.”

And that meant the Tim Dick knew was still in there. He was still trying to follow Batman’s code. Right? So Dick said, “Jay. Please. He needs proper help, not--”

“You be quiet,” Jason said, tone threatening but not loud. “He doesn’t need your poison.”

“Drake has finally lost his mind,” Damian pronounced at the worst possible time. “It’s no surprise--”

“ _Robin.._ ” Dick said this sharply enough that Damian quieted, deep scowl evident on his face.

“At least don’t cut off my feet,” Tim pleaded, “Please. Just the toes, I’ll never do it again--”

“No one’s cutting anything off, Timbers,” Jason responded, not seeming shocked at the plea.

Dick thought his stomach might turn. “Who—who the hell does he think is going to cut off his toes? What did you do?”

Jason shot him a look. “I told you, fear gas. Dumbass.”

He could see Tim’s toes curling in, and his breath suddenly leave him in a sob, as he pleaded again that he hadn’t done ‘it’, whatever ‘it’ might be. To please not kill ‘him,’ an unidentified person who was clearly not Tim.

Jason seemed torn between comforting Tim and confronting them. It was almost like he actually cared about Tim, and this was confusing to Dick. This was hard for him to acknowledge. _Especially_ given his nerves were so frayed from Damian’s life being threatened.

“Do you know what activates the pockets, Goldie?” Jason finally said, tone half angry, half defeated. 

Dick didn’t say anything, expecting Jason to continue. He did.

“Severe stress. Most kinds of sedatives. Anesthetics. Lots of shit.” Jason looked almost angry. “And it’s my fucking fault.”

This shocked Dick, that Jason would take the blame. “How--?”

“I tried to help by giving him sedatives. Cause you know how hard it is to watch a kid scream and hallucinate and shit for like 48 hours straight? I thought he’d die. He hadn’t slept or even relaxed. So I gave him sedative. And then I gave him more, because it barely seemed to take the edge off. And it made it _worse._ That was...that was the worst day. That’s when he got his wrists open. Well, one of them.” Jason’s eyes were glitteringly angry as he looked at Dick.

“He hasn’t had an episode like this in a long fucking time. I shoulda killed Crane. I shoulda just shot you, cause it’d be easier to deal with that fallout, you fucking idiot.”

And Tim sobbed again, not really here, pleading that, fine, take his feet, he didn’t care, just don’t kill someone who didn’t even deserve it. Please don’t kill his dad.

He was shaking violently.

Dick thought he might be ill. “This isn’t my fault—you didn’t tell me that sedatives would do this--”

“Oh yeah? Tim screaming at you not to do it didn’t clue you in? Or did you just decide you knew best?” Jason challenged, adding, “Little Red knows what sedatives do to him. Fuck, just you having that goddamn pellet—you know I can’t keep them in the house? Imagine what him knowing you were going to use it would do to him, you fucking--”

“Jason, you didn’t have to take him, goddamnit!” Dick shouted back. The guilt was striking at him like a snake, and he hated it. “You could have returned him home! But instead, you kept him and you gave him sedatives and you denied him being treated by us! We might have known what to do. Ever think of that? That you did this?”

Jason snarled, “I’m not the one who abandoned him. Fuck you, all you care about is feeling like you’re right. Well, you’re a fucking moron, and he’s better off _away from you._ ”

The smoke pellet managed to catch Dick off guard. Especially given that Jason was doing it in a _hospital_. But he raced forward anyway, and Jason wasn’t fast enough this time.

He caught a right hook to Jason’s chin, and he could feel Jason stumble, cursing.

“Stay here, stay right fucking here,” he could hear Jason say, and then, he could make him out, coming to kick him. He hadn’t really wanted to fight Jason, he’d always hoped they could get along, but fuck, this situation actually made him want to knock his goddamn teeth out.

His emotions were all over the place, actually, from wanting to cry to wanting to sock Jason to wanting to slap himself. How could he let things get this bad on his watch? How could he ever even pretend he’d lived up to what Bruce would have wanted? Or hell, even what his parents might’ve hoped for?

Jason was fighting like his life depended on it—or like Tim’s life did. And that unsettled Dick more than anything, because couldn’t possibly seriously think that Tim’s life was in danger from them, especially now that he _knew_ about the fear gas thing. Dick blocked another jab towards his neck, and he knew he was more agile than Jason, but Jason was stronger, and him landing a hit could mean the difference between taking Tim home and keeping Damian safe and losing Tim forever and even risking Damian.

A scream rent the air, and now, he could see Damian attempting to tussle with Tim. Attempting, because not only was Tim still in casts and recovering, he was hallucinating very heavily. So the handcuffs were a terrible, painful idea, and it seemed to intensify Tim’s shaking and whatever the fuck he was seeing now that his eyes were open again.

Dick attempted to run to them, shouting at Damian, “Stop, Robin!” but Jason blocked him, nailing him in the chest. He was growling as he flung a throwing knife at Damian, who dodged, pushing Tim to the floor beneath him in the process.

So Tim headbutted him in the face, sending his nose, which was still puffy, broken again and Damian crying out in enraged pain.

The batarang he flicked out, ready to stab Tim, had Dick’s heart stopping.

And that was all the advantage Jason needed to send him slamming into a wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I hope this makes any sense at all. 
> 
> I'm kinda trying to update whatever I can, while I have the strong urge to write shit tons of fanfic.
> 
> After being sick for a month and having lovely severe asthma attacks and all the things, I'd like to get back in the swing of things. We'll see how it goes.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah. I definitely messed with the timellines, but I hope you like it anyway.
> 
> And why another a story? I don't know, man. Probably to celebrate that I'm not dying right now. I can stand again, and got to go back to work today--absolutely lovely. :)
> 
> And other stories will get an update, just probably not tonight (if anyone who's reading this story reads any of my others, lol).
> 
> The JayTim is definitely not going to be a fluffy love thing. It's going to be dark and definitely bad for Tim--even somewhat bad for Jason. It is not OTP material, I think. I really wanted to explore Stockholm Syndrome, and we'll see how I do on it.


End file.
